


Glory Hole

by hit_it_with_a_shoe



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Glory Hole, Intense Religious Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_it_with_a_shoe/pseuds/hit_it_with_a_shoe
Summary: Mac blows a stranger in the Paddy's bathroom.





	Glory Hole

**Author's Note:**

> There's some pretty intense religious guilt and guilt in general in this. Mac is not in a great place, so if that's not an ok thing for you, then maybe skip this one. Otherwise, keep reading!

His heart is beating too hard in his chest, but he can barely hear it over the thump of music filtering through the bathroom walls. For once, the bar has customers. There’s a line out the door, because Frank got them involved in some kind of hipster line dancing scheme. Who knew there would be so much cash in it. 

Mac curls his hands into fists; he thinks they might be shaking, but when he’s white knuckled and tense he can barely tell. He can’t work out if this is a terrible idea, or a good one. His nerves are mixing up all the emotions in his head. 

He sits down a little heavily on the toilet lid when he hears the bathroom door swing open. There’s a laugh. It sound’s like a girls’, which is both a dizzying relief, and intensely aggravating. A knock at the door of his stall, and the indistinct sound of whispering. 

Mac looks up at the ceiling, fists resting on his thighs, momentarily frozen with indecision. “Occupied,” he almost shouts, wincing at the abruptness of the noise. 

More muffled whispering, and the click of two pairs of heels moving away just as the door swings open. There’s a man’s voice now, barely audible over the sound of the music, and the two girls laugh and exit. The door swings shut. 

It’s just Mac and a stranger. Mac and definitely-a-man, in an otherwise empty bathroom. His palms sweat, and he tries not to tap his foot on the floor. In fact, he hovers his feet just above the sight line of the gap between the door and the floor. Just in case. He doesn’t know if it’s better if the man is straight or gay. Knows Mac’s a man and wants him just the same, doesn’t know, or knows, and doesn’t care either way. 

The door of the next stall opens and shuts, the lock sliding definitively into place. 

Just Mac, a man, and a glory hole between them. 

There’s an agonising pause, where the two of them just wait. Mac closes his eyes and tries to think of who it could be. Scans through the memories of faces he remembers from earlier in the night; guys with hipster glasses, a few looking surprisingly buff even under all that plaid. His dick twitches in his jeans, and a hot, dizzy wave of shame speeds through him. He can barely tell the difference between arousal and religious guilt anymore. 

Mac knocks on the dividing wall. He gets on his knees. 

The rustling of a zip being pulled, and then-

He has to hold back the rough noise in his throat. It’s longer than his, and he can’t decide how he feels about that. A little thicker in the shaft just before the head. Uncircumcised. Hard. 

It’s almost instinct, the prayer he lets fly off the top of his head, but he tries to mentally yank it back. Stuff it away like it’s some kind of holy don’t-ask-don’t-tell situation. _Please_ , he just thinks instead, _please_. 

It’s hot in his hand. He knows what a dick feels like, but the smooth skin against his palm, the slight throb of the shaft when he lets out a helpless little exhale over the shiny tip. It’s dizzying. 

The man on the other side of the wall gives an impatient little thrust of his hips, and the head of his cock bumps Mac’s parted lips. It smears a drop of precome over his bottom lip. He licks it off, hesitantly, and his mouth waters. 

His own dick is so hard in his buttoned-up-zipped-up jeans, as he takes the stranger’s cock into his mouth. Just the head, settled against his willing tongue. He licks at the underside, hums in heady concentration as he drags his lips back over it; a slick, messy kiss to the tip. 

There’s a moan nestled at the back of his throat, pulled apart by shattered breaths, a heart beating too fast in his chest. One hand rests loosely at the base of the stranger’s cock, steady to guide it into his mouth. The other rests in a fist on his thigh, like if he can press his nails into his palm hard enough, he can forget how hard he is. How much he wants to touch himself. How much he wants this. 

From the other side of the wall, there’s a sound like the flat of a palm hitting an impatient _taptaptap_ , a silent _hurry up_. Mac appreciates the effort towards maintaining anonymity. Doesn’t so much appreciate the message itself. 

He curls his hand a little firmer around the stranger’s cock, fitting his palm just under the head and sliding down, spreading spit and precome down the shaft. When he licks his palm, it tastes like dick, and he closes his eyes, torn between disgust and blinding arousal. The sound his slick hand makes on the shaft goes straight to his dick. That slick, dirty sound of getting off. 

There’s the slight echo of a moan in the stranger’s stall, and Mac takes a slow breath. Hesitant fingers slide back the foreskin, until the head is exposed. 

Turned on and dazed with possibility in the face of anonymity, Mac slaps it against his tongue, prompting another maddeningly-hot thrust of the hips. _He wants me_ , Mac thinks, sucking at the head, taking the stranger’s dick further into his mouth. _He’s a man, and he wants me_. 

He can barely breathe as takes it deep, lips stretching around the thick of the shaft. He shifts on the floor, knees against chipped tile, as he tries to push himself forward, take more of the cock to the back of his throat. The prick of tears is hot and shameful against the back of his closed eyelids. 

Mac moans low in his throat, and the cock on his tongue twitches. _Fuck_ , he wants to say, beg, shout. He grabs at his own tense thighs, brow furrowed as he drools around the cock stuffed in his mouth. Some of his spit drips onto the floor, and he pulls off, wiping his mouth on his wrist, breathing hard. 

The cock in front of him is shiny and hard, and so hot in his hand. Mac wants to pull off his shirt, unbutton his jeans to get a hand on himself. He wants to be naked and hard, on his knees with a dick in his mouth. He wants desperately to be touched, to have a hand in his hair, and at the nape of his neck, guiding him deeper. A thumb rubbing over slick, swollen lips. A voice telling him how good he is for taking this, how great his mouth feels.

He closes his eyes, and takes it into his mouth again, squirming as it rests heavy on his tongue, fills up his mouth. He bobs his head, and hitches his hips in little, shameful pulses, trying to rut against the stiff fabric of his jeans. Waiting, just waiting for the stranger to tell him how good he is. For that one particular voice. He finds himself thinking about it before he can rationalise it away. It’s all he can think about with a dick so far down his throat that he’s seeing stars. 

_Good boy_ , says Dennis, echoing so loudly in Mac’s mind, _just like that, take my cock. What a good mouth, such pretty lips around my dick._

Mac whimpers, palm finding his own cock through the fabric. He can barely think, breath stolen, heart pounding. It leaves no room for anything but base, animal urges, and he grinds his palm down hard against his dick, cups shaking fingers around the dripping head. His jeans are damp with precome, and he shivers at the wet, slutty sounds his mouth makes as he bobs his head. 

The dick in his mouth thickens against his tongue, throbbing as Mac hums, moans, tries to swallow around the head. It feels like the stranger is going to come, and Mac doesn’t have any room left in his thoughts to push away the desperate _want_ he feels. 

_Please_ , he begs blindly, silently, _please_. His toes curl in his boots, and he shudders; he thinks he might come first, come all over his jeans on the floor of Paddy’s bathroom with a gay stranger’s dick in his mouth. 

Then, there’s the bitter salt of come all over his tongue. He pulls back in a kind of second-hand shock, wide-eyed as come stripes his swollen lips, and drips onto the bathroom floor between his spread thighs. Mac watches, breathless, as the cock in front of him pulses, a bead of come dripping down the head. He smears it off with tentative fingers, staring at the mess on his hand for a moment, before sticking out his tongue to lick it up. 

It doesn’t taste that different to his. Less bitter, if anything, and he ducks his head to suck his skin clean. 

The silence is too much, once stranger retreats, and the glory hole is empty. Coherent, God-fearing thoughts come rushing back, and tears prick at Mac’s eyes as the lock clicks open, and the stranger leaves the bathroom. 

“Forgive me,” he mutters, frantic fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans, “forgive me, please, please forgive me,” he begs as he yanks down the zip, kneels up and braces his forearm on the wall. 

He cries out when he gets a hand around his cock, tears stinging his eyes as he squeezes artlessly. It’s too dry, and he wipes his mouth with the hot palm of his hand, jerks himself off with a stranger’s come and his own spit. 

“Dennis,” he breathes; he’s here now, he’s at his lowest. “Dennis, baby, _fuck_ ,” he ruts into his own fist, digging harsh fingers into the wall of the cubicle, knuckles white. His forehead thuds against the divider, dull pain even as he shakes with pleasure. He rolls his forehead against the back of his hand, eyes squeezed tight shut. 

All he can see is Dennis. Next to him on the couch with a hand surreptitiously on his dick as some shitty porn plays out in front of them. Dennis with a mouth red from kissing someone else. Dennis laughing, talking, yelling. Dennis smiling, Dennis touching him; a hand on the shoulder, the vulnerable nape of his neck. Mac sobs against the wood, knees sliding on the tile floor as he tries to fuck his own hand. “Oh fuck, Dennis,” he gasps, hitting the wall with the flat of his palm until it stings, “fucking fuck, oh shit, shit, _shit_.” 

He comes with a rough, guttural noise, striping the dirty bathroom wall, cheek smeared against the wood. Panting, he shuts his eyes tight through the come down, a hand around his spent dick, body still buzzing. 

Images of Dennis still flit through his dazed mind, and he lets them for a moment, lets himself sit in the messy afterglow on bruised knees in a dirty bathroom stall. Thinking of his best friend with a hand around his roughed-up dick. 

“Forgive me,” he says again, curling his arms around his head as he slumps against the wall. He blocks out everything, pushing Dennis right to the back of his mind, shoving those fucked-up thoughts out of sight. “Forgive me,” he says, repeats it as a mantra.  

He doesn’t know how long his swollen lips push those words past his mouth, but when he’s done, he cleans himself off with toilet paper, and sticks his limp dick back in his jeans. 

Mac closes his eyes, and crosses himself. He doesn't make eye contact with himself in the mirror when he washes his hands. All he can hear is his own voice begging, too loud in the empty bathroom. 

Someone opens the door. Music floods the bathroom. Mac doesn’t even look to see who it is; he walks right past, and into the crowd. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't checked this over and it's just past midnight, so that's where any mistakes are coming from. 
> 
> I don't usually write intense stuff like this, so I would really appreciate it if you let me know how it was. Thank you!! :)


End file.
